


Playing Pretend

by ReclessAbandon



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Forced Marriage, Inspired By, Negotiations, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Parent-Child Relationship, Rebellious Child, Requested, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, fic request, rebellious daughter, reference, requested by
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReclessAbandon/pseuds/ReclessAbandon
Summary: One of my followers messaged me via ask on Tumblr that she watched Isi & Ossi on Netflix and couldn't stop thinking about the fake dating predicament. And so, I made a fic inspired by the film after watching it!
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One of my followers messaged me via ask on Tumblr that she watched Isi & Ossi on Netflix and couldn't stop thinking about the fake dating predicament. And so, I made a fic inspired by the film after watching it!

One would assume that everything in Alderaan were peaceful and perfect, however, another would beg to differ. Every lavish party, every sophisticated conference, or every single resident dressed with all the glamour in every thread of their clothing is proof of a luxurious, prosperous life.

Except for you. The young, free-spirited only child of Governor Sohan Torvel and Yasina Elvas. Despite giving simply anything and everything that you would ever want, you’re not satisfied with the things that have made you the cause of envy among your peers.

Indeed, you may move with a regal, youthful grace—thanks to the private tutors that groomed you according to your mother’s bidding (and payment)—but this princess façade was only Yasina’s fantasy. You have a different calling.

You took your lessons seriously and diligently, excelling in some areas that further impressed the tutors and parents; your best advantage being the vast knowledge of politics—both clean and dirty—thanks to your family background.

But you’d rather spend the day hiking, rock-climbing, and even roaming the city without an escort—at the command of your father. In your teenage years, you’ve grown familiar with the city after traversing rooftop to rooftop with an acrobatic fluidity. You’ve turned yourself invisible from the eyes of your father’s hired bodyguards—whom you familiarized yourself with—perhaps your only lacking skill is combat, since you stayed away from trouble more than you should find it.

You’ve heard talks about your father, Sohan, was eyeing political bonds that would prove to be advantageous to him, but of course, no such exchange exists with only one party giving out. The family was discussing this over dinner.

“So, [y/n],” Sohan cleared his throat in their wide dining hall that it echoed. “How are your lessons coming along?”

“Swimmingly,” you replied with a dry smile.

“Well, darling, I’m sure you would love to share the news with everyone,” Yasina subtly initiated.

Immediately, you realized that there is something your parents are either planning to do or have done already and are just announcing it now.

Your gut feeling was heavy, as if an anchor inside your stomach had suddenly dropped—something isn’t right. There’s something that your parents aren’t telling you prior to tonight. You hate it when they do that.

You alternately looked at your parents left and right.

“What? What is it?”

“I’ve decided to apply as Senator. If I emerge victorious, we can either stay in our estate in Coruscant or here but I will be in the Senate Palace most of the time,”

You exhaled through your nostrils, managed a smile. “That’s great, Dad,”

“Thank you, sweetie. I’m glad I have your support,”

The joy was immediately cut off with your sharp wit. A knack that your mother disliked because it usually kills the mood and subsequently uncovers a nasty truth.

“With an _expensive_ move like this, I assumed you searched for sponsors to aid your campaign. And obviously, whomever sponsor that is, it’s only natural they require something in exchange, don’t they?”

The couple’s collective smiles melted as soon as their daughter pointed out a very tiny loophole in the agenda. In terms of deals such as these, you weren’t dumb to not notice the pattern.

“Actually, in four days’ time we’ll be having a banquet—as a way of thanks and gratitude to my sponsor,”

“I don’t think a banquet is enough of a repayment of their generosity and willingness to help you, Dad,”

Yasina somehow sensed what you were trying to squeeze out of your father. For some reason, Sohan was also dodging your questions—or answering them with a statement that is out of the intended context.

You gave up in pressing your father further on giving you a name, or at least a hint on who it might be.

 _I guess I’m finding out for myself at the party then._ You thought to yourself, picking away the rest of your dinner with the prong of your fork.

“[y/n], honey, please don’t play with your food,” your mother lightly scolds.

You shot a look at her—a signature downward-tilting angle of the head with your indifferent sneer. However, she had her counterattack: her jaw stiffened and her fingers curled inward, slowly clenching into a fist. That didn’t seem to scare you—at least now at your age.

“Eat your food. That is not how young noblewomen touch their food,”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Dinner ended with an awkward note. After your mother lightly scolding you which nearly became a war of words, you left the table and marched to the hallway to your bedroom.

As soon as you found refuge in your room, you inner sanctum, the holotable was the first thing you approached and then touched. It took a few seconds before the projection of Tazha—your childhood friend, the _only_ _true_ friend that you ever had all these years as a matter of fact—fizzled and crackled into clarity.

“Tazha,”

“Oh hey, [y/n],”

Tazha was your polar opposite. She was the preppy—kind of ditzy yet endearing—girl. Meanwhile, you were the adventurous one who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty or her nails chipped after hiking a hill or climbing a waterfall’s rock wall. Nevertheless, she was your friend—the one who stayed by your side while everybody else envied you, talked behind your back, and scorned you for being the child of the elite.

“Ohh, I know that tone of voice, [y/n],”

Silence from your end.

“Another party?”

“Another party.”

She squealed in excitement. Tazha’s family and yours have been working collaboratively—that was a bonus in your friendship, another bonus is that for every public function or gathering that either family held, the other family is written into the guestlist by default.

You let Tazha in on the details regarding your father’s campaign and the party that will be held to commemorate the generosity and new partnership he’s celebrating with his sponsor.

“You have any idea on who the sponsor is?”

“I was hoping I’d get that answer from you, Tazha,”

“Well,” she sighed pensively. “You know how I do. I still have to time it right for Papa to get the invitation or bring up the party.”

You sighed so deeply that Tazha cracked a joke about it.

“Jeez. Sigh any louder and we don’t need this holotable to converse,”

“Ha-ha. Very funny, Taz,”

“Oh alright,” she whined. “Another thing about the party is bothering you, huh?”

“He didn’t mention who the sponsor was,”

“Ever heard about the element of surprise?”

Tazha was understanding to lend a listening ear for you to rant away. She had quite strong counterarguments, albeit being simple one-liners. As your good friend, she tried to calm you down; talking you out of it so that you could get your mind off of it.

“Just lie down and relax. Get some sleep, stay hydrated, and don’t think about it too much—if you can, okay?”

“Okay,” you muttered in defeat, knowing that Tazha was right one way or another.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, hun,”

“Yeah, see you,”

She blew a kiss at you before fading into thin air. You retreated to your bed. You couldn’t sleep, but you know one thing that might cheer you up and ease your nerves.


	2. Chapter 2

The doors of your closet flung open. You rummaged through the glamorous, glittery, expensive dresses hanging on the rack and felt for the compartment in the back of the cabinet.

In it were the clothes that you _really_ liked. They were simple yet comfortable, tailored for mobility, and that you pull off black so well. It was also the perfect camouflage when you’re out on the streets. Standing out in a crowd is the last thing you want to do.

“I think it’s a great night for a city stroll,” you tell yourself.

You have made an entire escape route from your room to the outside world. The Torvel Manor’s grandeur in size was exploited by none other than you—studying and memorizing the blind spots where the security cameras and guards are absent greatly helped, knowing which direction from the manor led to where, and paths that you have carved over the years.

When you got farther away from the manor, you headed to the direction of the downtown area—where the least “elite” resided. You were simply thankful that no one recognizes you.

Striding through these alleys and annexes, your legs move on their own whenever you come to find a bar to frequent in. One of your favorites was the Tipsy Taun-Taun. You’ve been there many times, you’re practically a regular.

“[Y/N]!!” the bartender, a male Balosar, hollered to greet you upon your entrance.

You greet back with a cool, casual voice.

Music set with a heavy bass blasted through as soon as the door swings open. You made your way into the bar and ordered a glass of Merenzane Gold—your usual. As the amber-colored liquid slithered down to your gut, you savored the spice that lingered at the walls of your throat.

“Another,” you told him, slightly pushing the glass toward his direction.

“Any more than two and that means you got a family problem there, shrimp boat,” his chuckle outweighed his concern.

“Well, you might be right about that,” you smacked your lips and nudged the glass closer to him. “Another.”

The barkeeper didn’t argue and poured you another.

“Was it Mommy or Daddy this time?”

You’ve finished your drink before he could anticipate your answer. This was your third now.

“A little bit of both,” you sarcastically answered.

Looking around the bar, a redhead about your age hunching over the table caught your eye—he had his back turned to your direction, yet he was subtly looking around as if searching for or looking out from somebody. In all your years in frequenting this pub, you could know who comes in here regularly and who doesn’t.

“Who’s he?” you gestured at the redhead, pointing at him with a nod.

“Nah, dunno ‘im. Prolly just some kid that ended up here,”

“You mean, this is the first time he’s here?”

The barkeeper shrugged and then busied himself with cleaning glasses. You kept your eye on the redhead. When he looked your way, your eyes briefly met, it stayed that way for a few minutes before you casually averted your eyes from him to the stage while sipping on your drink.

The Balosar received a generous payment from your pocket as you proceeded to leave the pub. Shortly after you left, some of the patrons took notice of you—they left the bar and followed you from a less suspicious distance. The redhead sensed the trouble and proceeded to tail you altogether.

The route from the pub that leads out to one of your usual hunting grounds was a maze of dark alleys and unoccupied residential blocks—these were the townhouses that were too expensive for the common folk who wanted a good standard of living, something that you urged your father to develop a reform bill on.

Much later, as you get deeper and deeper into the intricate network of alleys, there was a feeling that loomed heavily over you. You know you were being watched and followed, you hated it; the one cardinal rule is to not look back over your shoulder, otherwise you’ve already started a fight before you could even pick one.

The sinister, disembodied pair of laughter echoed in the hollow walls of the empty slums. The haze have begun to seep in. You continue to walk, simultaneously looking around the buildings in search for another way above the ground.

The laughs become louder and louder. You felt that whoever following you was getting closer. You were running out of ground and hiding places.

“Come here, little chicky-chick,”

“We just wanna talk,”

“Are you lost, honeypie?”

They hollered. Continuing to follow you as they do so. Both of them, whoever they were, cast a long shadow in what little light the lampposts shed in the streets. The panic in your heart was getting too strong for you to suppress, you wanted to fight them but you don’t have the capacity—your fighting skills are amateurish, and they could kill you in a flash if they choose. You wonder if the DL-44 blaster buckled around your waist underneath your jacket would be enough defense.

 _Can’t hurt to try._ You tell yourself mentally.

“Hey!” one of them bellowed.

“We’re talkin’ to you!” the other followed suit.

At the end of their path, they ended up following a phantom… until you fell from above—you were perched on one of the metal emergency exit stairs of the abandoned apartments—and stunned one of them as his forehead hit the cold, damp concrete.

“You little bitch, I’ll get ya!!” the companion growled, pulling out a blaster from his belt holster.

He opened fire the second he clicked the safety, though you were quick to dodge and take cover. Meanwhile, the young redhead who followed the three of you heard the blaster fire. He immediately bolted to the direction where the noise came from; acting on pure instinct, he unclipped his lightsaber from his belt when the sound of the commotion became more apparent.

The redhead arrived at the scene. He saw one of the muggers downed but still moving, he saw the companion and you volleying blaster fire with another.

“Not if I get you first!” the young boy cried.

It drew everybody’s attention—including the nearly-conscious mugger. The volley of blaster fire ceased. The redhead that you found in the pub is standing at the other end of the alley, with an unusual weapon in hand: a glowing beam of blue light in a shining hilt.

Your eyes widened as you recognized the weapon. You’ve heard the stories, you’ve read the books that depicted them in tales and history. You know what this boy is.

You were quick to wake from your awe-stricken state. This sudden break in action was seen as an opportunity. You jumped on the second mugger you were trading shots with and disarmed him—a good sliding kick and a hard elbow to the gut did the trick. When his companion got back on his feet, he set his sights on the redhead; this lumbering mugger charged towards the ginger like an angry Reek but the kid was quick to evade him. The next thing you know, he was standing by your side with the two muggers facing each of you.

“You got something to fight with?” he asked.

“Yeah,”

“Good. Use it,”

Without another word to one another, both of you lunged at the enemy. The redhead with his lightsaber and you with your fists and kicks. At this point, you were thankful that you know something—albeit sloppy—than nothing at all.

These lugs were next to nothing against you and the redheaded boy. Both of you were nimble and quick with your attacks. The fight didn’t last long as you were able to knock them out cold, their bodies fell cold at your feet.

You turn your face to the boy, he looked back you—gasping for air, cold beads of sweat dotting his temples, and a failing grip on his weapon’s hilt.

“Come on, we gotta bail before they wake,” you beckoned.

“Lead the way,”

You figured that he was athletic enough to keep up with you in scaling buildings. You ended up on the roof of the apartment next door. Taking shelter in a rooftop’s tool shed, you fell to the floor and slumped your back against one of the ventilation fans.

“Thanks for back there,”

“Happy to help,” he huffed.

“What’s your name?”

“Cal. Cal Kestis,”

You extended your hand as you said your name.

Cal finally had enough breath to hold a conversation, “Where’d you learn how to fight like that?”

“I had a pretty great mentor,”

“I see,”

The conversation thrived with your questions to each other. Albeit it was only the basic and casual ones, it was nice to have someone covering for you—even if they were total strangers.

“Why’d you help me?” you bring up.

“Because I choose to, ‘cause I want to,”

“Not because I can handle it?”

“Unless you count that incoming blaster fire right into your face,”

A scoffed laugh was your reaction to the latter. You admitted that you weren’t the best fighter around. For the rest of the night, Cal continued bombarding you with questions the same way you did him, until you got to know each other to a certain extent.

Something about him was unusual in a good way. A company that you enjoyed. You’d hate to end the chat too soon but you told him that you had to go.

“See you around, Cal,”

“Yeah, likewise, [y/n],”

You smiled at him and then prepared yourself for the next leap across the next building. Cal watched you close the eight-foot gap between the building where you sat and the rooftop you’ve landed on. You looked over your shoulder as you ran before you vanished into the night—he was still looking back at you.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, you’ve slept in. The first thing your puffy eyes see was Tazha sitting by your dresser stool and touching every single bottle on the table. You sat up but that still didn’t get her attention.

“Since when have you been here?”

Tazha turned her head to you, she exclaimed as if she was surprised to see you awake.

“Well, good morning, sunshine!”

You lay back to your bed but Tazha prompt stood up, marched towards you and pulled away the blanket from your body.

“Ohhh no, you’ve been asleep for far too long!”

Your eyelids shot up and flicked to Tazha.

“What time is it?”

Tazha snatched up the clock on your nightstand and showed the time right in front of you. You groaned and rubbed the bridge of your nose.

“What’d you do last night?”

She wasn’t expecting you to smile and scoff through your nostrils. Tazha tilted her head in confusion as she studied your expression.

“Crazy night, I’ll tell you more in a bit,”

You stood up to go to the bathroom and wash your face. By the time you came back out to rejoin Tazha, you narrated everything that happened right after your conversation via the holotable ended. She is the only person who knows your nightly escapades. You mentioned your run-in with your new friend.

“Well, it sounds like you two had fun kicking the asses out of those muggers,”

“He was probably judging my fighting techniques. I was still sloppy,”

Tazha stands up from your bedside.

“Come on. Our dads are downstairs, they’re probably working on the party that you told me about. Get dressed.”

The conversation was indistinct but audible from your bedroom in the second floor, both you and Tazha arrived in the living room where her father and yours were discovering over business matters. You didn’t last long in the living room, you dragged Tazha away to the smaller dining hall where you usually make your own food. She sat by the barstool on the center island, watching you rummage and fix up something to eat.

“Why don’t you call one of your cooks to do it for you?”

“No, it’s fine. Not everything I need has to be done by someone else,”

When you settled down on a seat opposite Tazha, she immediately saw the firm expression painted all over your face.

“What have they talked about so far, Tazha?”

“I’ve only heard much,”

“Like what? Start from the very beginning,”

Tazha started off with the part that obviously her family is invited to your father’s party, she got to the better and relevant parts—one of which is that she had picked up a name from their conversation earlier while you were asleep.

“They’ve invited the Ithrels. Your dad said something like sponsor or something,”

“He’s made the Ithrel family his sponsors,” you deduced.

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing,”

“Just a feeling. Thanks for covering for me, Tazha,”

Today was a busy day for your parents. You were left alone in the dark as you watch them confer with one another and with different people via the living room holotable. As a child, it was something you never understood, it was also the reason why you felt estranged from them—despite giving you what you could ever want and need or both.

Why did they always choose to speak with projections of people through a machine over their own daughter in the flesh who is always watching them from the door?

There was very little interaction between you and your parents. Perhaps the only interaction you’ve had so far from either of them was your mother calling for you to go to the atelier room. When you got there, five people who introduced themselves as designers lined up in front of you. Beside them was a mannequin wearing a dress of their making.

“I had them called here because I want you to pick out a dress for your father’s banquet.”

None of the dresses seemed to impress you. You approached every single one, each designer either smiled at you or stiffened from nervousness—probably because your approval was their prize, a ridiculous competition.

Your fingers felt the fabric of each dress, your hand slid down to the skirts’ lengths, and then you move on to the next dress. They were beautiful indeed. But you’ve no need of them, other girls could’ve felt like royalty for a night in dresses like those. To spite your mother, you twirled to face her and give your verdict.

“Sorry, but I believe I have _more_ than enough dresses for a party like this,”

You crossed your arms. Wrinkles appeared on Yasina’s forehead upon hearing your answer. The designers were just as confused themselves.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mom, there’s so much dresses in my wardrobe that I practically need a warehouse! I think I have enough to choose from in my closet instead of this. Send them back. Have them make a dress for you if that makes you feel any better,”

It all happened so fast for your mother, you walked out and headed for your room, realizing that there isn’t much to do in your own house.

“They’re probably too busy to even care that I’m gone,” you muttered it to yourself with great scorn, lousily tying your hair in a messy ponytail and then proceeded to march out of the house.

You were on your way to downtown again. You put on the hood of your poncho and suddenly you were one of the common faces in the crowd. The destination was your favorite pub, back in the Tipsy Taun-Taun.

The Balosar barkeeper greeted you as soon as you entered.

“You’re early,”

“Whatever, I’m a paying customer.”

“Just sayin’.”

He said he’ll be whipping up a glass of Merenzane Gold for you, but you stopped him there and ordered a glass of Meiloorun Juice instead.

“Aww, so the little princess got a hangover?” the Balosar jeered.

“No, I didn’t!”

The keeper proceeded to make your drink, you searched for a seat; the place is so much quieter in the day than in the night. Nonetheless, you enjoyed it either time of the day. When the drink was ready, Balosar called your name and you stood up from your table. As you were about to reach for the drink, another patron—a Devaronian—snatched it and finished it in a single gulp. It all happened in a flash that you still took a minute to process what he just did.

“That was my drink!”

“Tab’s on you, missy,”

You whipped out your blaster from the flap of your poncho, you clicked the safety and pointed the barrel at his nape. His chuckle sounded more like a grumble.

“Ooh, I’m scared. What’s the little princess gonna do with a big boy’s gun?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, ass-wipe?”

That struck a chord on the hulking Devaronian, he swung his arm and flicked away the blaster from your hand. He raised his arms in a charging attack at you, you dodged soon enough that his clenched fists landed on a table, partially shattering it in the middle; you attempted to aim the blaster at him, but your hands were trembling so much that the shot merely grazed his waist. He howled in pain but immediately shrugged it off.

You were doing well in dodging the enemy’s blows, swinging his left and right arm alternately which you cleanly ducked from.

“Stay still and let me claw that pretty little face!” he roared.

A large glass bottle shattered on the back of the Devaronian’s head. The impact wasn’t hard enough to render him unconscious, although it stunned him enough to lower his defenses. When he turned around, much to your surprise, it was Cal.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” he casually said despite the mood of the predicament.

“I strongly agree,”

Once again, you two were a tag team. It was now two against one. Normally, a Devaronian thug could take two humans no problem. But this apparently that urban belief betrays the Devaronian. He was bombarded with your kicks, using anything around you as a weapon against him, Cal wasn’t using his saber but his fists and he threw them so hard that you could hear the impact land on the enemy’s cheek.

Cal was the one to deliver the last blow. The Devaronian fell to the floor, the barkeeper leaned over the bar to check the knocked-out patron.

“Yep, he’s out cold, alright!”

“Thanks… again,”

“You’re welcome… again.”

A brief pause between the two of you, and the Balosar is just there standing awkwardly.

“Let me buy you a drink,” you gently tapped Cal on the chest with the back of your hand, then you turned to the Balosar. “The last one isn’t on me, understood?”

You ordered the same drink for the two of you. Like last night, both of you talked over anything that you could think of.

“Where did you learn to fight?” he asked after taking a sip.

You stammered, “Oh, uh… I had a trainer but only for a short while. Then I picked up some more moves by myself—it’s been like that ever since,”

“Hey, there’s room for improvement,”

“Was I sloppy?”

Cal shrugged and avoided the question by chugging all of what’s left of his drink. You finished yours as well, you tossed a credit to the barkeeper.

“Follow me,”

“What?”

“Come on!”

Both of you left the bar and Cal followed you to the backstreets one block away from the pub. You scaled the buildings again and ended up in the rooftop.

“What are we doing here?”

“I was hoping you’d teach me, since you fight better than I do.”

“It’s gonna take some time,”

“I don’t care,”

Cal saw that there is no other way in getting around with you. You were your own brand of stubborn, but he felt that you got spirit. The rest of the day was spent with Cal training you basic combat moves in case of street fights and cantina brawls like yesterday and today.

“So, where you from around these parts?”

Your fighting stance softened and you nearly lost focus when he asked that question, you knew you had to make up the vaguest possible answer quick.

“Oh… a little far from here,”

“Do you hang around here more often?”

“Yeah,”

He stopped asking questions and continued giving you pointers on how to dodge, take the upper hand, and exploit an enemy’s weakness. The session lasted until dusk, you didn’t even notice the time pass. You hurried to leave the rooftop, leaving a confused Cal watching you run away from his vantage point.

“And there you go again,” he muttered under his breath.

“Boo-woop!”

“Yeah... I guess she’s kinda cute,”

A small smirk curled at the corner of his lip.


	4. Chapter 4

Cal found a way down the building and walked his way back to the Usher Cantina, one of the few cantinas in the Capital that have docking bays. The Usher Cantina was one of the biggest in the city too; occupying a whole block to cover the bar itself as well as the elaborate network of paths that connect the bays to one another, with the cantina at the starting point of it all.

The Mantis’s entrance ramp hissed and lowered, opening the door before him. An aromatic waft was the first to welcome him upon his entry.

“Looks like Greez is cooking something good,” he comments to BD-1.

As he entered the ship, Greez’s dual pairs of arms were all over the pantry and yet each arm was carefully distributed to a certain task in cooking.

“Smells good, Greez!” Cal beamed.

“Oh good, you’re just in time for dinner—with all that wandering around you’re doing, you’re probably hungry,”

He joined the others at the table as soon as Greez lifted the pot from the stove and served everyone their own plates. The meal was solemn and yet there was a warm aura emanating around them. Cal decided to up the mood by striking a conversation.

“How long do you guys still think we’re gonna stay here until _this_ blows over?”

A silence at the dinner table. Cere’s eyes shifted, she searched Greez’s face and studied his reaction toward Cal’s question. There was only one possible and realistic answer, but the boy doesn’t seem to concur with it.

“Cal,” she clears her throat. “You do understand why…”

Before she could even reiterate her question, Cal already knew this mere dinner table conversation was going to be another lecture.

“I know. We’re hiding from the loan shark that Greez borrowed the money from to get this ship,”

It was an embarrassing truth, but a truth nonetheless. Greez felt like the situation required him to say a piece.

“Look, kid, we can scrape by with what we have. I mean, I still got coin on me—but not that enough to cover the loan plus with its interest!”

“Odd jobs, honest jobs, aren’t gonna cut it in a short time, Greez. At least _you_ would know that, of all people,” Cal argued.

Cal had been wandering around the city looking for a quick way to earn some coin in the quickest way possible. The downtown and underground areas of the planet had some questionable methods of earning money—but they were easy money. Although Cal had grown up with street smarts, part of that knowledge is when and where a solution is either a real solution or another problem later on.

“You know the Sabacc, don’t ya?” Greez whispered with the left corner of his mouth directed to Cal.

“Greez, we are _not_ going with gambling!” Cere sternly exclaimed. The impact of her fork dropping against the plate was just as scary as a fist landing on the table like a gavel.

There was another silence amongst them again. Cere continued on with her own piece.

“We cannot endanger anyone in our crew with something that won’t be worth our while. I don’t mind pretending to be some stranger in a different name just so we can have someplace to stay safe together. But I will _not_ allow anybody in this ship to get into something that would jeopardize themselves or the crew altogether, understand?”

Cere’s outburst hardened the silence. Everybody understands that she hasn’t outgrown her military discipline from her days of participating in the Clone Wars—and she’s utilizing them in predicaments such as these amongst the Mantis crew members.

These episodes of hers were occasional, therefore it made her unpredictable, intimidating, but somehow her aggressive delivery doesn’t outweigh her rationale or true motive. Everybody—Cal, Greez, Merrin, and ultimately BD-1—knew that she means well and that she always will.

Cere processed what just had happened with her. She attempted to recompose herself in the midst of the awkwardness. She cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s fine, Cere,” Greez consoles.

The dinner proceeds. Cal wondered if the girl he met yesterday and bumped into just now would be a better subject to talk about.

“I met someone last night. Bumped into her again,”

All heads turn to Cal.

“She frequents a pub not too far from here. I always see her near or inside that place. Maybe if I bump into her again, I’ll ask her where I can find a place to get some cash—and a clean one at that,”

“Are you sure she is to be trusted?” Cere maintained her stern tone even after recomposing herself.

Cal was so sure of his judgment about you. He recalled the moments where you two were together. He felt your kindness and compassion—he knew of your good intentions, you meant no harm—but he also sensed some sort of sadness in you.

“You probably have heard of Senator Bail Organa?” Cere takes the conversation reins.

Cal shrugs, “Yeah sure, I know him. I saw him sometimes in the Senate Building in Coruscant.”

“Well, he knows of our presence here—don’t worry, he doesn’t know about the loan shark at our tail—and he’s invited us to a social function,”

“Social function?” Cal raised his eyebrow at Cere’s unusual choice of word.

“Apparently, this party was being held by a colleague of his. Perhaps they needed to fill the guestlist,”

“Proxies,”

“Exactly.”

“How bad can a few no-show guests be? It’s not like it’s gonna dent their bank account when the catering bill comes!” Greez dryly joked and it was the received likewise.

In light of this new announcement, Cal began to wonder how long does he have to stay in the party before he could sneak back out in the streets and find the unusual girl who had to drag him up a rooftop from the Tipsy Taun-Taun just to ask for some self-defense moves.

The following days passed until the day of the banquet has come. That morning, your mother personally made sure that you don’t sleep in and get yourself ready as quickly as possible. She also announced that the stylists are coming in half an hour.

“Mom, I’m perfectly capable of doing my own makeup!” You detest despite still being groggy from being woken up without your consent.

You force yourself out of bed so that you could take a shower. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the luxury of staying too long in the bath—however, you sorely wished you did. You slid deeper into the cold, ivory and gold-trimmed bathtub until only your eyes are on the surface.

A pounding on the door disturbed your watery peace.

“[y/n], hurry up!” your mother growled from the other side.

“Almost done!” you cried back.

You were actually done minutes ago, you only chose to soak yourself for a bit longer with the wishful thinking that they’ll never realize that you’ve locked yourself in your own bathroom. You’d love that though.

“No one could ever go wrong with black,” you muttered as you pulled out an off-shouldered black cocktail dress with stars and planets embroidered with golden thread.

You made quick work of yourself. You did your hair and makeup: applying minimal makeup as possible, you wore your hair down and clipped a silver headband on both ends with four tiers of golden cords hanging over on top of the other. Staring back at yourself in the mirror, a brush in your hand slides down to the length of your hair; with every stroke, you ponder if all this your parents are doing is ever worth it either for themselves or for the family.

You sigh for an answer, or lack thereof. Afterwards, you donned the dress and the shoes—both pieces were in black. The finishing touch—a personal one at that—was a pair of leather fingerless gloves.

“Here goes nothing,” a mantra you tell yourself before exiting your room in attendance to any social gathering you were obliged to attend.

The party started without you. No surprise in that, you thought. Nevertheless, you made your way to ballroom where the chatter of the guests became more and more audible yet incoherent as their voices meddled.

Immediately, you searched for Tazha in the room. She wasn’t easy to miss. Her glittering dress outshines everyone else’s, literally making her a beacon for you to easily see her. You walk up to her.

“Oh you look great!” she compliments.

“Thanks, you too,”

Suddenly, one of the Ithrel sons, Logan who was the third son and was the same age as you, appears ot be walking toward you with what you thought is the stupidest grin you’ve ever seen on a face. He comes in strong by grabbing you by the waist, reel you in for a kiss except you successfully dodged it with your gloved hand.

“Logan? What the hell are you doing?!”

“Well, your mom paid me to flirt with you until you end up falling in love with me, I’ll have a chance in the Junior Legislator’s Program! Plus, we get to support your family until your dad becomes Senator or whatever, I mean, we don’t have a choice on that, we just gotta roll with it,” he beamed with an imbecile’s optimism. “Big bonus if we ever get married though. I mean, she wanted that to happen. So, marry me?”

“Hold up. She did what now?”

Logan repeated your own mother’s plan, he reiterated that this part wasn’t even in the original agreement. Your mother had to negotiate her way through the Ithrels in promising a much stronger bond of support to _your_ family—therefore, you became a sacrificial lamb.

You and Tazha exchanged glances. Both of you communicated clearly through the furrows of your brows and the hard rolling of your eyes. A gradual burst of rage was flowing in your bloodstreams.

“Oh my God, this is just sad and pathetic of you, Logan,” Tazha condescendingly comments.

“I’m gonna give her a piece of my mind tonight,” you growled, your knuckles were white from gripping the bannister too hard.

You searched for your mother in the ballroom. When you spotted her and your father speaking with some guests, you marched through the sea of people until you reached her.

“Mother, may I speak with you?”

Yasina excused herself from her guest and she was in for a surprise with what is about to go down.

“You paid one of the Ithrel sons to date me?! Because you thought that would strengthen your connection with them just so Dad can secure his win in the election? You did this without me knowing? Whatever the hell happened to consent, Mom!?”

“[y/n] Elvas Torvel, I do not allow you to speak to me with a tone like _that_ in an important event like this!” Yasina hissed, struggling to maintain her composure—both mentally and physically—after just being bombarded with questions by her daughter.

“Did you even ever stop to think how I’d feel if you paired me with a complete imbecile?!”

“[y/n], honey, please listen,” your father intervenes but the argument was heating up between you and your mother.

“The Ithrels are a good family. They uphold a clear reputation. We Torvels and Ithrels would be a great collaborative enterprise,”

“You don’t see the problem here, Mom? I don’t want to get married!”

Yasina was silent. Her face was completely aghast: her eyes wide open, her lip was trembling as if wanting to say something but couldn’t because of so much nerves thrashing underneath her skin.

“You will not ruin this event for your own selfish, adolescent needs, young lady. We are not finished with this discussion.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on ending it soon.”

You walked out from your parents. Turning your back on them to wipe away the tears that was welling up in your eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

You couldn’t stay still while sipping on champagne. At the corner of Tazha’s eye, she takes notice of a boy who seem to perfectly fit the description of the boy you first met days ago. She tapped you repeatedly on the shoulder.

“Look over there, [y/n],”

You turn your attention to the direction where Tazha’s eyes are. You froze and your eyes widened in sheer surprise, you almost fell from losing balance on your heels, and the word that you wanted to utter became just a choked grunt.

“Oh my God…” was all you managed to say.

You strode down the stairs, tailed by Tazha, you pushed and excused yourself from the large adults that stood in your way until you could get to Cal.

“Cal?”

When he turned to look at you, he was just as surprised as you are. He wasn’t wearing a fancy suit or outfit, his jumpsuit was black—contrast to the blue one that you remembered him wearing when you met him.

“[y/n]? What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,”

Cal explained that he and his companions were proxies for some of the guests that didn’t make it. He also said that one of his companions personally knew Senator Bail Organa.

“Who invited you?” the clueless redhead asked.

“ _Who invited her_?” Tazha repeated mockingly, warranting attention from both Cal and you. “Her dad is responsible for this shindig. She lives _here_!”

At that moment, you felt like the floor would crumble under your feet anytime. You were pushed into a corner, no thanks to Tazha’s unsolicited reply. Your quick wit couldn’t even save you from that revelation.

“Is that true?”

“Yep. Sorry, I didn’t exactly specify where in Alderaan I lived,”

Suddenly, the lightbulb in your mind flickered on.

“Look, I’m sorry in advance but this is probably gonna be the weirdest thing but… Could you be like my boyfriend for a few minutes, please?”

“What?”

A lump got stuck in your throat that you can’t seem to swallow away, your palms were sweating, and your own heels are trembling at the mercy of your stilettos—all happening at the same time.

_Oh, suck it up, [y/n]!_

“Tomorrow at the Tipsy Taun-Taun. Meet me there at 0300,”

Logan appeared in the corner of your eye, you saw him looking for you in your general direction. You inhaled sharply, stepped closer to Cal, clutching him by the arm, and then kissed him on the cheek—close enough to give off the intimate façade. Even Tazha was surprised with this bold move of yours; she also noticed Logan standing a few meters away but is in full view of you and Cal together in the dance floor.

When you pulled away, he was simply taken aback, at a loss for words. It took him a few good minutes before his mind registers what just went down. He didn’t have the chance to object—as a matter of fact, he never had the time.

“Please at least tell me what you’re planning on doing, [y/n]?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Tazha? I’m sabotaging my own arranged engagement,”

The next morning, you felt a hangover coming on even though you didn’t have much to drink, though it was more of an emotional one. When you woke, the words that you’ve let go were still fresh in your mind—as if you’ve only said them moments ago—you also thought the whole scene last night was kind of funny, you fight your incoming laughter by chewing on your cheek.

You contemplate whether to go or not.

“What have I go to lose anyway?”

You bring yourself out of bed, get dressed and ultimately miss breakfast with your parents and had a bowl of cereal as brunch instead. You ponder about your parents’ next possible move—predicting that they’re finally working on the campaign, another heated argument either over dinner again or in the living room is likely to happen. Though you didn’t let that linger in your head that much so you sneak out of the house to meet Cal.

Along the way, you were worried that this plan was silly and pointless. Should it come through, it will be short-lived. Out of all the things you’ve planned in your entire life, this is possibly the most badly-thought, the most desperate, and perhaps your only fighting chance.

When you got to the pub, the barkeeper greeted you only with his eyes, then gestured you to the farthest side of the pub—at the booth of the left side of the building, the ends of his hair were poking out of the couch’s tall backrest.

“You made it,” you say as you approached the booth and took a seat.

“Well, that was the only clear thing you ever said to me last night,”

“Right, about that, I guess I owe you an… elaborate explanation,”

“Obviously,”

“I’m engaged,”

An awkwardness lingered between the two of you, it hung around the air like the small cheap chandelier suspended above your heads. Cal’s eyes shifted from left to right, he twiddled his thumbs together while deciding the most appropriate thing to say to that.

“Uh… congratulations?”

“No!” you groaned in great vexation. “I didn’t want that engagement in the first place.”

“You don’t wanna get married?”

“Not to that imbecile they’ve paired me with,” your face cringed at the thought of Logan as a husband which he clearly is incapable of being. “So, no, I am _not_ putting a ring on that.”

Cal’s silence as a reaction to that implied you to lay on your plans involving him and why you uttered those words to him last night at the party.

“Be my boyfriend until it convinces my parents well enough to cancel the engagement,”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Well, what do you want?”

Cal shifted in his seat, he leaned back some more into the couch, and knew that this was an opportunity to help Greez with his loan problem. What’s holding him back is his moral compass.

“A friend of mine has a problem. He’s taken a loan and the shark is after him, we only got into this planet via an alias. It’s a loan for the ship we’re using to go around places,”

“So you want me to cover what’s left of the payment?”

“Smart girl,”

“No, it’s just plain logic, dude. But sure, I’ll help. How much do you guys need anyway?”

“We’re short on 40,000 credits,”

The amount didn’t faze you, although you wondered what kind of ship they have to garner such a price in the loan. It didn’t take long for you to think hard about it, you simply agreed to help Cal with his friend’s ship loan problem.

“Okay, that seems doable, but only if you play along with what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

You shrug one shoulder and eyeball your right side. “Be my boyfriend. Or pretend to be—until my parents blow of the engagement because they’ll think I’m too in love with you.”

Cal smacked his lips, “Okay then, that’s… possible.”

Both of you were awkward about this but were willing to make ends meet. One needed something from the other. A simple cycle, a classic pattern.

“Maybe one of these days, you’ll show me to the ship, if that’s okay.” You said demurely.

Cal shrugged his shoulders, “Sure, no problem. Who knows? You might like it.”

“Do we have a deal?” you extend your hand across the table to him.

He shakes on it.

“Alright, we got a deal then.”

Your handshake slowed down but neither of you seem to be letting go of each other’s hand. You had to take the initiative. Cal cleared his throat.

“Okay, so how does this work?”

“What does work?”

“The whole fake dating thing,”

“Pretty much like what you’d do in a real relationship, Cal. The hugging, kissing, cuddling, hand-holding—typical stuff.”

You chuckled, thinking that it was silly enumerating things couples normally do as if it was rocket science. But then again, you’ve never been into a relationship before. For what it’s worth, this could be your first actual relationship—despite it being a charade deal hybrid.

You were the first to break the ice, you didn’t even realize that you freely spoke about anything you wanted to him. He lent his listening ear and sometimes continue the flow of the conversation. Starting off with basics such as homeworlds, hobbies, and what you did growing up, it eventually shifted to the interests you’ve developed as you grew up. That’s when you’ve become more animated and vocal with your stories.

Cal was observing you across the table that you didn’t even notice it. He watched you ramble on, maintaining eye contact with him as you talked, and making slight gestures with your hands as you continued telling stories. Unconsciously, the corner of his mouth curled as he listened to you speak.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m rambling! I just got carried away with the stories and stuff,”

“No. It’s not a problem, I mean… that’s the first step, right? Getting to know each other,”

You shyly smiled, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Coy smiles exchanged with one another over the table. Thinking of other things to talk about, Cal decided it would be a good idea to show you the Mantis—the exact thing that you’re fulfilling your end of the bargain for.

“Come on, [y/n], my turn to show you something,”

“Really?”

“Come on,”

He stood up, you didn’t expect him to extend his hand to you but you took it anyway. The two of you left the pub and followed him to the place where the Mantis was docked.


	6. Chapter 6

The closer you got to the area, the more you recognized the place.

“Hey, I go here sometimes,” you thought out loud but your voice trailed off at the end.

“Really?”

“Yeah, when I take my nightly strolls alone. You know, bumping into muggers in alleyways in the dead of the night kind of stuff?”

“You kinda have a knack for that?”

“Trouble?”

“Yeah … I mean, no… Well, sort of…” he stammered.

You snickered, “Don’t worry. I’m fully aware of that.”

Cal keyed in the code in the terminal panel to get through the gate of his docking bay. Finally, the doors revealed the Mantis before you. You walk closer and the sunlight gleamed across the sharp edges of the ship. The golden accents over its emerald base made it look classier in your opinion.

“An S-161 Stinger XL? Okay, now I get why it’s worth _that_ much!” you exclaimed.

Cal looked at you when you reacted, he was somewhat surprised, at the same time impressed.

“You look like you know your ships,”

“I used to sneak into docking bays like these when I was younger—when I started sneaking out of the house. That’s where I learned my stuff, and of course some of the books back home.”

“That’s actually kinda cool,”

You got a closer look of the Mantis. The paint’s finish shimmered under the sunlight, your hand rose and slid to feel the ship’s exterior, just being close to it made you excited. You hear the entry ramp open with Cal standing on it. He beckons you to follow him inside.

Upon entering, the Mantis was slightly cramped but enough to get around in. This was the very first time you’ve been into a ship that has real plants decorating it. Compared to most ships you’ve ridden all your life, the Mantis was something you genuinely liked.

From your periphery, a Lateron appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“Well, well, who’s this, Cal?”

“Greez, meet [y/n]. And [y/n], this is Greez, the captain around this ship.”

Eventually, two more people showed up in the lounge where you and Cal stood. When Cere showed up, she kept a certain, piercing gaze at you which you assumed to be a death glare. You were a little bit intimidated by everyone, all you could manage was a whispering “Hi.”

“You must be the friend that Cal was talking about,”

You jerk your head to Cal, “Hold up, you told them about me?”

“It’s a long story,”

And so it was.

Cal had gathered everyone and told them about the agreement that the both of you have. Later on, you were given the chance to explain yourself, your reason of doing this, and the promise that you are willing to keep. In a certain point of view, it solves the problem—but mostly on Cal’s end. At one moment, you felt Cere was genuinely concerned for you.

“How is the transaction gonna work exactly?” Greez brings up.

“Either I send the money here in portions—under the condition that I _personally_ deliver them—or have it in full once the deal is finished. Your choice.”

“Full’s okay,” Greez dismisses.

“What about your parents?” Cere followed, the concerned tone in her voice was vague—you couldn’t tell if it was real or not.

You were dismissive about it, simply assuring them that you can handle them, when in truth you’re not one hundred percent sure if this would even pull off. In your mind, you cannot tell whether you’ll win this battle or not.

Once the two of you were settled in the couch, neither of you were making initial eye contact. Everything was still confusing for both of you. The voice in your head is repeatedly screaming “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done so far!”

“So, what do you wanna do?” Cal asked to finally break the silence.

Your eyes shifted left and right, undecided on what to do on your first day as a fake couple. You slightly shake your head.

“I absolutely have no idea,”

Up until now, you didn’t notice a pair of black headphones resting on the table by the galley couch. You tipped your head at it.

“Is that yours?”

“Yeah. You wanna give it a listen?”

You nod your head.

You adjusted the headband until the earmuffs fit neatly on to your ears. Cal held the player, he didn’t know what to play for you. In a wildcard moment, he decided to play Black Thunder but lowered the volume so the percussion doesn’t hurt your ears.

There was a sudden shift in your expression. From blank and timid, your eyes lit up and your lips parted in surprise.

“What?”

“I know this band!”

Cal shifted in his seat and then leaned closer to you.

“You know The HU?”

“Yeah, I know The HU!” you beamed.

A conversation borne from your mutual interest to that particular band quickly escalated from knowing the band to listing the other songs and bands either of you liked. When that has run its race, out of a whim, Cal looks at you intently and asks you.

“Wanna go around outside for a walk?”

“Sure,” you nodded.

You left the ship together and you led him to one of your usual hangouts aside from the Tipsy Taun-taun and the rooftops. Paces away from the Mobara Palace, a strange feeling overcame you—you felt like someone was watching or following you. Cal took notice of this and asked if you were sick.

“I’m fine… I just think we’re being watched,”

He looked around, searching for anybody suspicious, he sensed it too quite well than you do—except he can’t find the spy. Suddenly, you take his hand and sprinted through the streets in the hopes of getting out of plain sight.

“Where are we going?!”

“Trust me!” you said so surely.

The thrill of running through the main street, taking blind turns into curbs from one block to another, it eventually became a race between you and Cal—testing each other’s skills and endurance, pitting against each other—but it was an exciting competition. You have been so alone in endeavors like these that you didn’t know what it felt like to have a companion. You savor the rush of the moment as the two of you race through the city streets and annexes.

Impressed but not surprised. That was your overall impression during your escape run with Cal. You’ve led him to an abandoned park. The adrenaline was beginning to tone down.

“Do you think we lost him?” you exhaled.

“I guess so…” Cal surveys the place. “Where did you take us?”

“A park. Well, it used to be,”

When both of you have recomposed yourselves, Cal—being new to the place—spun around, examining the park. The plants have claimed the land, vines and roots have overtaken the concrete, moss has crawled out of the fountain basin, a carpet of fallen leaves covered the pavement, and yet the trees have blossomed and thrived too well.

“You come around here often?”

“Only when I want to,”

“Oh…” he hummed, his voice was beginning to hush.

You sat on the flat surface of the fountain’s basin, watched him go around and touch the plants, the statues, and the benches. You notice the way he holds and examines them, he looks at them in a deep gaze that you don’t really understand; you brush away the leaves with the tip of your boots. Neither of you could think of a subject to talk about.

“Where are you from, Cal?”

Your question got his attention, he lifts his hand away from the bouquet of wilted flowers resting on a bench across the fountain.

“Bracca. I worked as a scrapper there,”

“Have you lived there all your life?”

“For the most part,”

He joins you by the fountain, propping his elbows on his thighs, he didn’t speak right away—he had to think of something to say to you. He starts to ask questions about yourself—what else you do for fun and your interests.

Small talks eventually evolve to animated conversations. It may be too soon to say that you and he are getting along just fine—but to you, it honestly felt that way. Apart from Tazha, Cal was the next person you felt comfortable with in being your normal self—not the aristocrat, princess-like façade that you put up in your own home.

Slowly but surely, you’ve warmed up to each other. At one point, your individual sense of humor started to reveal itself as you were exchanging stories of your childhoods—mostly the pranks you’ve pulled, the things you’ve done, and even your embarrassing moments when looking back. He started to tease you in the middle of his jokes, you try to up him by clapping back with your own jokes.

“Okay, okay, I got another!” you struggle to breathe after laughing so much.

“Well go on!” Cal coaxed you while in a laughing fit as well.

You let out what’s left of your laughter before you continued. Cal found your laughter contagious and he’d also end up chuckling along with you until he was out of breath.

“There was this one time: I was like ten, we had a guest who was kinda mean to me—he was pretty old and grumpy. So, I gave him the slightly uncooked corn I had mixed up with the cooked ones—so the corn was still a bit too hard to bite on—and then he bit into it… but when he pulled it away from his mouth, his false teeth was stuck to it and everyone at the table saw it! There were like eight people at the table including me!”

“No kidding?!”

“Yes!” you burst out chortling.

“You’re bad,” he cooed.

“Oh come on, that was just as bad as what you did with your jumper cable prank! You made someone fly three feet away from the shock of the cables when they imploded!”

“Okay, I guess neither of us could outweigh each other’s pranks!”

Your stomach was cramping from all the laughing. For the first time in years, the park was full of life from the laughter of two youngsters.


	7. Chapter 7

When you got home, you were greeted by your parents with faces blanker than a canvas. They were now fully aware that you are definitely spending time with this boy. Your mother is usually the one who had the most to say, whereas your father had nothing much to say—in fact, your parents were perfect opposites of one another.

“Oh, so now you suddenly care that I come home late, that I’m gone for hours because I’m spending most of it with my boyfriend, and that I _actually exist_?”

“What’s it going to take for you to stop this behavior?”

“Postpone the engagement with Logan that you made without my consent and 40,000 credits,”

“What in the world are you going to do with forty-thousand, [y/n]?!”

“What? A girl’s gotta shop,” you say condescendingly. “Plus, when did five digits ever worry you, Mom? You’re one of the filthy rich, remember? Forty-thousand is barely a dent on your joint account!”

“[y/n], please can we sort this out?” your poor father sighed.

As much as you want to give in for your father, if you give in now then you have broken your deal with Cal by default—you couldn’t allow it, your parents even seem to have overlooked your demand of postponing the engagement.

When your parents were sure that you were out of earshot, Sorhan reassured his wife that he will send out of the bodyguards to keep an eye on her—even though he was against the whole idea. Little did they know that you were hiding behind the walls near the living room, though it didn’t surprise you that they will be sending out spies for you—you knew exactly how to evade them. Even if they did see you, there’s nothing much they can do.

You repeated the exact same words of your non-negotiables to your parents, your words were almost immediately eaten by the air as soon as you released them. You shake your head in utter disappointment and retreated to your bedroom. By rote, you check your holotable for transmissions and messages that you received while you were out—majority of them came from Tazha begging you to call her back once you’re back, which you did.

“Ugh, finally!”

“Really? That’s how you’re gonna start the call, Taz?”

“You’ve been gone _all_ day!”

“Yeah, I was with Cal the whole time,”

“You mean your _fake_ boyfriend?”

You paused from removing your jacket just so you could shoot back a look at Tazha. You picked up something from the way she put that out, though you shouldn’t have a reason to get that word under your skin. You forget that it was the reality of this whole ordeal.

“Got something to tell me, Tazha?”

“Well, duh, tell me how your date go?”

“It wasn’t a date, we just met up and talked,”

Tazha rolled her eyes and sighed, “Gee, how romantic.”

While folding your jacket, a smile had curled up in your lips when the memory of you and Cal back at the abandoned park suddenly flashed in your mind. Not even the slightest smile escape Tazha’s eagle eyes—even through a holotable transmission.

“Hup! I saw that, [y/n],” she perked up, pointing her finger at you. “Come on, you’ve got something to tell!”

“Does it really interest you or nah?”

Tazha debated that she definitely wants to hear about your day and so you narrated everything to her from the very beginning until the end when you two were in the park all day. It wasn’t the moments you retold that interested her, it was more of the way you told it—even your face was telling a lot more of the story than your lips.

“He listens to The HU too!”

“So what are you guys gonna do tomorrow or next?”

You shrug your shoulders but you didn’t worry about it too much.

 _Wow, this is so unlike her._ Tazha thought to herself when she saw you squeal like a toddler, she’s never seen you this excited for anything. Being your best friend since forever, she knows that you were the planner between the two of you—and to see you not panicking over the fact that you’ve got no specific plans for the next time you and Cal meet up kind of surprised her.

The dates continued on. You brought Cal to the farmer’s market where they sell delicacies and drinks found only in Alderaan, one of your favorites being the Starblossom fruit and the beverage Mocoa.

“Be sure to remove the seeds, they’re really bitter when you bite them,”

“I’ve never had these ever, these are really good!”

“Yeah?”

“I think this is gonna top Jogan berries in my list of favorite fruits,”

There are still so many things you want Cal to see and try. The pubs and its drinks, the farmer’s market and what it has to offer, and even the mosh pits. He was surprised that even in a classy planet as Alderaan, there are such things.

“Well, the rich people aren’t the only ones who wanna have fun!” you exclaim.

You still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you and Cal are getting along well despite this fake relationship—sometimes he forgets that he was even in one in the first place. He continued to spend time with you, meeting up with you whenever you asked. In the first few days, he did it out of obligation and for the sake of following the agreement; but the more often you two hang out, he slowly warmed up to you some more. He allowed you to drag him around the city and bring him to places that you usually frequent.

Each time you’re with him, the more you wanted the moments to last longer. You didn’t want to come back to your house.

You and Cal get into a mosh pit, the show was about to start, and the crowd was beginning to go wild. Most of the partygoers were young people—just about your age—and they were clad in a complete contrast to the luxurious clothes that the elites wear.

Cal wrapped his arm around your shoulder which startled you, when you tilted your head up to look at him, he had that casual look in his face.

“What are you doing?”

“Figured we ought to look the part,” he smirked.

You scoffed as you smiled back, seeing that there was no harm in it, the two of you approach the bouncer at the gate.

“Hey-hey, look who it is! It’s [y/n]! Where the heck have you been?!”

“Hey Fritz, heard that the band’s here!”

“For sure!” the bouncer takes notice of Cal, he points at him but kept his eyes on you. “Your boy?”

“Yeah, this is Cal.”

“Hoo-whee, and I thought the princess could never score a keeper!”

You brush off the bouncer’s teasing and he finally lets you and Cal in after you hand him a handful of credits. From afar, you found the bodyguard that your father had sent blend in with the crowd but he sticks out like a sore thumb, you ignored him and let him see you enter the mosh pit; he later contacts your father shortly after you and Cal entered.

“You’re a regular here?” Cal closed in on your ear as the bass was blaring through the speakers.

“Yeah well, I come around here more often than the Tipsy Taun-taun! I’m sure you’ll like it here, just wait and see!” you confidently assured him.

Cal stayed close to you while the two of you stayed at the bar, watching the crowd and whoever performer is on stage, and sipping Alderaanian brandy. After the performer that was already on stage when you got there, the emcee walks in and says his spiel for the next one. He vaguely introduces the band until he declares the name.

“The one you’ve all been waiting for: The HU!!!”

The crowd went wild, they roared and whistled, some of them even spun their bandannas in the air as the band members. As for Cal, his lips parted open starting from the moment the emcee uttered the band’s name. He looked to you, as if looking for some confirmation, and you answered his expression with a smile combined with a single twitch of your eyebrows.

The song started with a few strokes of their fiddles and then the beat of the drums. The crowd was bobbing and rocking to the rhythm of all the instruments and the unconventional yet impressive vocals—to you, the scene almost looked like a cult meeting.

“You knew you’d be here, didn’t you?”

You beamed a playful smile, “Told ya you’d like it!”

The HU was reaching its chorus, the instrumental was gradually heightening its intensity, and the crowd chanted along to the lyrics—even covering the background voices in certain verses. Eventually, you and Cal joined along as you knew the song as well as everyone else watching the gig. The songs became wilder. Laughter drowned in the roars of the crowd and the acoustics of the instruments, but neither of you didn’t care, the two of you are simply having fun in the heat of the moment.

The next band comes in. It was a drastic shift of mood compared to the last band as the vocalist belted out mellow tones, but the crowd—including the pair of you—adapted quickly; from bobbing your heads to the impactful beating of the drum, you sway left to right with your hands raised up harmonizing with the smooth strumming of the guitar and the neon lights have softened into warmer tones of purple, blue, and orange.

Cal wrapped his arm around you while swaying with the crowd. Much later, he gently cups your chin and angles your head so you face him. Was it on a whim or by impulse? Is there a difference anyway? It didn’t matter to him. Without warning, he brings himself closer to you until the gap in between is gone.

In the middle of the crowd.

Cal’s lips presses against yours.

Everything suddenly seemed to slow down—the movements of the crowd and the band, the beams of light dancing around the place, and the pace of time.

He presses his lips to yours, now your heart is beating ever faster, he softly suckles your lower lip and he slowly pulls away. The two of you exchanged tender gazes at each other, in the next second you gently pull him close by the straps of his armor and return the kiss.

Your trembling hands perched on his broad shoulders. The intensity was flaring, he allowed himself to get carried away. Everything around you felt like it was spinning. You were caught in the moment.

You didn’t even realize that your father and the bodyguard had tracked you down to the mosh pit, but when Sorhan saw you, he almost thought that the girl he was seeing wasn’t his own daughter: lips stretched to an ear-to-ear smile, eyes squinted into tight slits, and a laughter drowned by the blaring sounds of the music and the roaring crowd.

“Sir?”

“Come on. Leave her,” your father resigned and marched out of the bar, the confused bodyguard followed suit.

When the hype in the mosh pit died down, Cal offered to take you home. You walked the streets hand-in-hand, the rush is still fresh in both of you, and he would steal glimpses of you smiling to yourself—in turn, he would smile too as the two of you walk.

His pace got noticeably slower when you arrive to the manor’s porch, you were reluctant yourself, you didn’t want to get near the front door either. Cal squeezes your hand and step forward to the first step of the porch, he remained standing on one step below. You turn to Cal and the bright glint in his eyes that you saw at the mosh pit had dimmed down.

“Hey,” you cooed, giving his hand clutching yours a gentle shake. “I had the most fun tonight.”

“Me too.”

He manages a smile. Cal slowly closes in on you, your head tilts up as your eyes follow him; he softly brushes the wisps of hair to the back of your ear. He was hesitant about something. Your heart was racing again, he gazes at you intently and tenderly. His eyes trail to your mouth, he gently cups your chin with one hand and inches you closer to him.

His lips met your lips again, but this time, his kiss was much tenderer. You suckle his lips back as your felt his hands crawl and caress your neck. He finally wills himself to pull away from you.

“Good night,” he whispers while the tips of your noses brush against each other.

You smile, “Good night.”

His grip on your hand slowly loosens until the last of yours fingers have slid away from his grasp. Your free hand blindly pawed the door and turned the knob. You push the door open while still looking back at Cal; you step in and the last thing you see as you slowly close it is him smiling back at you—but it was a sad smile, you somehow understand why because the feeling’s mutual.


	8. Chapter 8

You strode through the empty, lifeless hallways. Thunder rumbled from the outside, you hoped that Cal could get back home before the rain falls. When you reached the open arch that leads to the living room, you discover your parents in there. They appeared to be stiff as statues; your mother was positioned like a queen on the throne as she sat on the velveteen armchair, whereas your father stood by the window that overlooks the garden. You wondered how long have they been staying there.

“Mom, Dad…” you dryly greet.

“Sweetie, sit down,” Sorhan gestures the couch to you. “We need to talk.”

You obey. You toss your jacket to the empty space next to you as you lazily bounced down on the couch, back slouched, arms crossed over your chest, and your leg propped up on your knee.

“You’ve got to stop seeing that… boy,” Yasina evidently had to struggle in finding the right word to use in addressing Cal.

You roll your eyes at your mother, “His name is Cal. Would it kill you if you say his name?”

“Sorry, dear. But, listen to me,”

“To you?” you cut off, but your mother continued nonetheless.

“This charade isn’t healthy. These past few days, you’ve been staying outside more often than in the house. A woman of your stature deserves better.”

“A woman of stature,” you repeat the words mockingly. “Really, Mom? And what kind of guy is good for a _woman of my stature_?”

Your mother stood her ground, “A man with good reputation, upholds a good imagem and has a good grasp of influence.”

“No, Mom. You’re speaking about yourself. That kind of man you’re talking about… is Dad. I’m afraid you don’t know what’s good for me, you just think you do.”

You’re astonished with the act your mother is putting up. You couldn’t look at her in the eye, you could not bear to listen to her voice for long, because when you do—all you can visualize is how she talked her way into making the Ithrels think that marrying her own daughter off to their son was a good idea. You imagined her thinking of you like some kind of livestock to be sold to the next owner, and it disgusted you straight to the bone. Just thinking about it made you hiccup as you fight back the tears coming on.

“Do you understand [y/n]? This has got to stop,” Yasina firmly said.

“Not until you postpone my engagement with Logan,”

“At with that again, [y/n]!” Yasina hissed. “Why can’t you understand that what we’re doing is only for the best for you?” Yasina sighed but deliberately dodging the engagement subject.

You’re not sure how long you could endure _this_ charade.

There was a resigned look in your mother’s face, but you couldn’t empathize with it because something valuable to you was at stake—your own freedom to choose.

“Don’t you understand? I have your life figured out for you!”

Thunder bellowed over your house.

That sentence didn’t sound right to you. In the back of your mind, your conscience—that tiny but loud voice in your head—was violently thrashing like the wild lightning flashing through the windows, throwing questions left and right until the words would reach the tip of your tongue. That’s when your mother has crossed the line. You jolted up from your seat on the couch and that’s when you let it all out for the first time in your life.

“You know, Mom, just because you think you got my life figured out—with all the decisions involving me that didn’t have my consent or anything—that doesn’t mean it’ll make me happy and content by default! And now you’re suddenly caring about me ever since I started being with Cal? I have been with him for weeks and you’ve only noticed _just now_! I’ve never been _this_ happy until I found Cal!”

“That boy will do no better than the Ithrels in securing your father’s winning step to the Senate election! We need the Ithrels!”

“And in exchange, you sold off your _own_ daughter as a dowry for that!” you clap back.

“We need their money and influence!”

Your mother’s outburst was a bitter epiphany for you. Your heart sank. Tears welled up behind your eyes and your stomach cramped as you tried to fight back the tears.

 _So, they’ve chosen that instead of my happiness. So be it._ The voice in your head said in a sullen tone.

“I have my answer now…” you choked. “You never cared for me at all. I’m not your daughter.”

A single tear rolls down on your cheek, without waiting for your mother to explain herself, you walked out of the living room; at that moment, you know that it’s hopeless to expect anything from them. You slipped into their bedroom, you located the small safe inside the closet and cracked the code. It never probably crossed your parents’ minds that one day you would pry the vault open and take the money inside. You took enough for you live off from and the debt you’d promised Cal.

You quietly returned to your room and lock yourself in, barring the doorknobs with a chair.

Bags and clothes spilled out of your closet and drawers after rummaging them wildly in a fit. You looked for the best backpack you could find and stuffed it full of your clothes and other daily things.

Two knocks on the door startled you and the muffled voice of your mother on the other side can be heard. You ignored it as you continued packing. Seeing that your primary way out has been blocked by your parents, the window was your next option. Upon opening the shutters, you assess your escape route—the blossom tree’s branches were conveniently near enough your window for you to reach.

You carefully dropped your bag to the hedge below your window. You were next. You balanced yourself on the windowsill and kept your focus on the branch, your mother’s calls to you fell to deaf ears, you blocked out the sound of her knocking so you could concentrate.

“Okay, [y/n], you can do this,” you pep-talk yourself out of it.

A leap of faith.

You gripped onto a sturdy, thick branch extending to a close distance by your window. You make your way down the tree as quickly as possible, another hedge broke your fall, and you snatched your bag right where you dropped it.

You made a run for it and then you were out of the manor’s premises. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, hoping that the path you’re following could be the way Cal is going from your house to Mobara Palace.

Little by little, cold droplets landed on your cheeks until they all fell in succession. The rain was the least of your problems. Fog wafted out of your mouth each time you exhale and the cold air seeping into your lungs was starting to slow you down, but no, you tell yourself that you must keep going.

You arrive to the city. Lampposts lining the streets in the dead of the night was your guide in finding Cal.

“Cal!”

Your voice was nearly drowned out by the rainfall, you went straight ahead, following the directions leading to Mobara Palace but you never stopped calling his name.

“CAL?!”

Under the light of a lamppost, someone walked past it in the darkness of the streets. A sliver of hope convinced you that it was him and so you come running to it.

“CAL…! CAL!!!” you cry at the top of your lungs until he turned to the direction where his name was coming from.

He stopped in his tracks, turned around and saw you.

“[y/n]?”

Cal shielded your head from the raindrops with the flap of his poncho. He puts his arm around you as you walked together through the rain. When Cere saw you drenched and cold, she offered you shelter in their ship without a second’s notice.

You and Cal took turns in using the shower to get changed into warm, dry clothes. It was already late and most of the crew have already retired to bed, except for you and Cal both settled in the couch below the galley.

“How’s the tea?”

Your only reply was a gentle grunt. Your hands clasp the curvature of the mug, letting the heat radiate from the ceramic to your flesh. Cal reaches for you and gently places his hand on your thigh. He was getting tired of your silence, you haven’t spoken ever since you got in the Mantis—except for saying “thanks.”

He decided to sit by your side, scooching closer to you until your sides touch.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know, really… I mean, I still can’t wrap my head around it,”

He didn’t push it, he kept quiet, though it was a comforting kind of silence. The muffled sound of the thunder and rain while you were in the confines of the Mantis was surprisingly relaxing; leaning against the couch, the two of you began rambling to one another, shifting from one random subject to the next.

“Look, I have the money. I’d rather not have you ask me how I got it—”

“I don’t really care about that,” Cal cuts you off, looking into your eyes intently.

You blinked and stammered as you tried to regain yourself. All you could ever do is take another sip of the tea. You stared into the dark, transparent liquid in the cup and saw your reflection. You sighed.

“My parents and I had a fight earlier,”

“Is that why you ran away?”

“Partially. What convinced me to leave was that they made me realize that I never mattered to them as their daughter. Perhaps to them, I was an asset that they can use for their own benefit—the engagement for instance. Not once, did I ever hear from them that they considered what I’d feel if I knew that I was being married off against my will. I’m afraid to think that they never cared about me. They tell me that they care for me, that they only want what’s good for me…” you bite your lip, your grip around the mug tightening.

You continued on rambling, Cal still stood there by your side, listening. Perhaps, that’s all he could ever do to help you right now. You just needed a listener.

“But all this time, my whole life—it was just a big, nasty game of pretend. A game I never wanted to be part of.”

You sniffled and resisted the tears, chugging your tea so that the tears won’t fall. You apologized for suddenly rambling. He noticed that your voice was trailing off, your eyes were drooping, and you could barely hold the mug securely in your hands.

“Aww, look at you, you’re beat,”

“I’m fine,” you stammered.

Cal wasn’t taking that for an answer, he takes the cup away from your hand and scooped you up from the couch and right into his arms. He brought you to the quarters, he asked if you were claustrophobic and apologizes in advance for the condition of your would-be bedroom.

He settles you down on his bed, but you stretched out your arms to him—gesturing him to stay and lie down with you—he gave in and cuddled you. His musk entered your nostrils, you nuzzled your nose on his chest as you cuddled. His hands softly and smoothly glided across your arm, his fingers danced on your sides to exposed tummy back and forth. He felt a chuckle vibrate from you.

“What is it?” he hummed.

“Nothing. I just think this feels nice—even if we’re just pretending,”

“But I wasn’t pretending with you,”

“What?”

“Somehow, I thought you always knew. Back at the park, at the fountain—everything just started to feel different with you.”

You angled your head up to face him, your grip on his tightened a little that his shirt crumpled. He didn’t see it coming—you inched closer to him and you were the one planting a kiss this time. His hands crawled to your neck, he shifted in bed—standing on fours over you—and returns with a more passionate kiss.

Trapped in this intense embrace, you gave in and let go. Cal’s free hand wandered down your side, tracing your curves, his fingers sank into your flesh as he groped you by the thigh. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your nails left red marks as you scratched the skin of his back; you rake his hair back with slender fingers as tender kisses mark your neck. Your back arches as his lips crawl downward from your neck to your chest, Cal’s eyes fixates on your expression and listens to the sighs that escape your lungs.

For the first time in your life, you’ve allowed yourself to give in and let go. No words were spoken, but your emotions were loud enough. Secret smiles revealed themselves as you and Cal gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun rises on Alderaan, the light spills through every nook and cranny it could touch—the Mantis was no exception. You wake up to Cal’s steady breathing blowing at your nape, you felt his arm securing you by the waist while you were sleeping. Ever so carefully, you toss to the other so you face him.

This was the first time you’ve been so close to him, close enough to study his features—what with the nightly meetings and hanging out in mosh pits and dim pubs, you barely had the chance until now. Boyishly charming and soft—these were the words that accurately describe him. Your eyes jumped from one freckle to another, your fingertip hovered over the scar on his nose bridge and watched as his eyelids twitch.

 _So handsome…_ you think to yourself.

For some unknown reason, the sensation of his touch and kiss from last night still burned fresh on your skin. You caress your neck, your arms, and even your abdomen—images of last night flashed before your eyes, the sounds of Cal’s sighs mingling with yours rung in your ears, and the arch of your back once at the height of your passion returned to your nerves. All at once, the feelings come washing over you like a wild river current.

Cal wakes to the sight of you beside him in bed. His eyelids slowly opened and blinked until the lights have stopped dancing behind them. His slender fingers rake your scalp and then they limply slide down your cheek to your arms.

“Good morning…” he greets with a sleepy, slightly raspy voice.

“Morning,” you whisper back.

After greeting one another, he tries to drift back to sleep but you give him a little, playful shake. He responded with sleepy grunts and chuckles then tightens his embrace around you.

“Five more minutes,” he whined.

“Come on, it’s breakfast time already,” you urged.

“No, it’s five-more-minutes time,”

Cal buried his face in the corner of your neck and secretly plant a kiss on your collarbone. He didn’t release you from his arm, rather he tightened it some more that he’s nearly constricted you. There was no way to convince him to get out of bed.

It took a few good minutes, nudges, and cheek-pinching for him to finally bring himself up from bed; he sat up and small purple patches on his neck and shoulder peeked out of the collar of his shirt. He lifts the hem of his shirt up to scratch his back, your nail scratches have embossed on his skin, and you discovered more bite marks on him.

_Did… Did I do that?_

When Cal stretched his arms, he’s taken notice of the apparent bruises on his biceps and eventually saw the ones on his shoulder by the corner of his eye. He glanced over his shoulder to see the culprit.

“Guess you didn’t slow down last night, princess,” he hummed.

You responded with a single shrug of the shoulder accompanied by, “Oopsie,”

While still sitting up, he searched for both of your hands, he pulled you close until your bodies touch; he secured your arms over his shoulders like a backpack, when he started to hoist himself—along with you on his back—up from the bed, your legs lock in against his hips and subsequently his hands secured your thighs, your arms connect and the two of you charge out giggling to the galley.

Apparently, Greez has already prepared breakfast for everybody. Cere and Greez shared a table, but you three youngsters—yourself, Cal, and Merrin—sat by the galley, chatting over breakfast, exchanging jokes and stories. Merrin shared to you about her life in Dathomir, Cal told you how he ended up in Bracca and his life as a Jedi, Cere would politely cut in too—sharing her experiences and knowledge—as well as Greez when he assumed that you’ve probably never heard of Lateron before, he even added stories about his great-grandmother. All of them fascinated you that your follow-up questions led to more stories.

You discover that this is what you have been missing all your life: an _authentic_ conversation over meals, genuine laughter from humane stories—not politics and business rambles—and people who actually acknowledge your presence. This was the perfect company.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation like this,” you muttered.

An awkward silence hung in the air, you immediately reacted to it and you tried to turn it around. While everyone was still gathered, you run to the quarters where you’ve kept your bag; you produced the small satchel of credits whose amount is unknown even to you.

“I promised Cal—well, Greez too—that I’d keep my end of the bargain. So… here.”

The satchel rested in the middle of the round table at the lounge, you turn the flap open to reveal fistfuls of credits. You carefully turned the bag over so the credits spill.

“How much is in _that_?!” Greez exclaimed.

“To be honest, I don’t know. I just scooped whatever I can before I ran away,”

All of you teamed up in stacking and counting the credits. It didn’t take long with that many hands helping around.

“This is gotta be more than just 40,000 credits!” Greez gasped.

You were sincerely relieved that the amount you’ve bagged was more than enough to cover the loan—presuming that there will be interest.

“You know, you can come with us,” Cal blurted.

You sat there in silence, taken aback. You didn’t anticipate he’d say something like that.

“We’ll go around from one side of the galaxy to the other. You’ll have the crew… and me.”

“You’d really want me with you?”

Everyone else heard Cal’s invitation, and they were warm about it.

“We don’t know how we can repay you, [y/n],” said Cere. “So I suppose Cal’s offer would be the least the crew can do as thanks. You’ll be safe here with us.”

Greez wagged his thumb at Cere discreetly, “Yeah, I’m not so sure about that. But if you got a stomach for danger and adventure, what difference does it make?”

“Don’t worry, [y/n], Greez is just paranoid whenever he’s not inside his own ship.” Merrin jokes.

“Well, how about it, princess? You don’t mind tagging along with the most unusual crew in the galaxy and a handsome ginger misfit?”

You tussled his hair and chuckled, “Whoever said you were handsome?”

“Heard you earlier in bed,” he winked.

You dropped everything and took Cal’s offer by the hand. The Mantis crew welcomed you with open arms. You looked at them one by one, warm gazes and smiles all around you—something that you haven’t seen for yourself in a long time. All of a sudden, it feels as though your shell has broken. The poor little rich girl is no more. Your heart soared.

“So, where to next?”


End file.
